Luck Of The Draw

That holy moment I rode the bay,
Whispering Hope, this rodeo arena—
like a shrine I return to, like sanctuary
or religion itself—was filled with bawling holler,
dust and hoof beats. The blur of cowboy colors
shimmered brilliant as boyhood Septembers
among birch and sugar maples, where I played
decked-out like TV bronc twister,
Stoney Burke.
                      But that was before
high school fans cheered us
galloping against rivals under gladiator lights
those fall Fridays in the pits, number 72
afire for 48 minutes of forearm shiver
and crack-back block.
                                 It’s hard to believe
there was a time I forgot the roughstock
rider gutting it out
to the final gun, the whole
gridiron game’s-worth of physical grit
concentrated, pressed into one play,
into one 8-second ride. All I needed was a horse
and the words of Horace Greeley in a dream,

a western pen pal, a cowboy
serial flashback, some sign or cue
to make me imagine the chutegate
thrown open to the snap—cleats
and spurs, chaps and pads, high kicks,
hard hits and heartbeats synchronized
a thousand miles apart.
                                   I left home barely
soon enough to make one good
bucking horse ride
across a vast canvas of Kid Russell landscape
backdropped by Heart Butte under a fuchsia sky
in Cascade, Montana.
                                 Through these cottonwoods,
high above the Missouri River’s silent swirls,
the flicking together of leaves
is the applause of small green hands, children
thrilled by a winning ride, by their wildest wish
beginning, as everything begins, with luck
of the draw, with a breeze in the heat,
with whispering hope—a first breath
blessed by myth, or birth, in the West.

Collisions of Reckless Love CDs are available from the Western Folklife Center (phone 775-738-7508, ext 2) and CD Baby.

© Paul Zarzyski. All rights reserved. These words may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.